Math is not thinking. Math is procedure. Memory is not thinking. Memory is storage. Thinking is thinking. Problem, solution. You and me think same speed. Why, question?
SPEED
Eğer onu seviyorsanız, onu göremezsiniz ki.
VALENTINE
Neden?
SPEED Aşkın gözü kördür de ondan.
Bazı hikâyeler tam tahmin ettiğin gibi ilerler. Bazılarıysa son sayfada tüm bildiklerini sorgulatır. 🤯
Ters köşeleri seviyorsan, seni sonuna kadar merakta bırakacak 3 kitap önerisini keşfetmeye hazır ol!
I've always loved listening to the way different people speak, it can tell you so much about them. I don't just mean accents, I mean everything: the tone, the volume, the speed, as well as the language. The words they choose to use, and how and when and why they say them. The silences between the sentences, which can be just as loud. A person's voice is like a wave - some just wash right over you, while others have the power to knock you down and drag you into an ocean of self-doubt.
His Plan
“Lord Aedan!” Auberon whirls. “Get your bannermen here and arrest
Malleus. My son as well. And then we will deal with the human-loving
peasant mob outside.”
Aedan lifts his chin. “I think I prefer to stay out of this, Your Majesty.
Like the Dream Stalker, I have a great aversion to unnecessary death.”
As he speaks, I recall the poisons in his bedroom with a shudder. Man
loves his poisons.
Auberon pounds the table. “My son thrives on death. What is the
meaning of this?”
Aedan stands. “I tend to agree with Prince Talan. The kingdom has been
mismanaged, and that is the cause of the unrest now.”
Every word planted in his brain by Talan long ago.
“This is treason!” Arwenna’s father, the Marquis de Bosclair, gets to his
feet. “You will do as our king demands.”
“I will not.” Aedan looks resolute. “It is time to take a stand.”
The marquis’s cheeks turn pink. “Once we’ve dealt with the
commoners, I will march my own armies against any noble who refused to
obey His Majesty. The king is correct. Any commoners marching on the
king are trying to aid our enemies. They’re working for the filthy humans
who spread the famine. They’re our enemy within our kingdom, and we
must deal with them the way we do any threat to the crown.”
“That’s nonsense.” Ker-Ys’s shrill voice rises. “They’re not helping the
humans, and they’re not demi-Fey. They’re just starving. I stand with Prince
Talan.”
And here before me, each strand of Talan’s plan weaves together in
perfect precision.
Months of whispering dreams into nobles’ ears, of sowing thoughts like
threads—now, his schemes stitch themselves into place, a tapestry worthy
of Elaine of Shalott’s loom. He’s even managed to construct it so that KerYs has looked like his enemy. For months, he’s been controlling Ker-Ys to
oppose him. Now, I realize, it
Close Combat
A queen’s power roars to life inside me. Take the crown that belongs to
us. Take what’s yours.
Imbued with their magic, I shove him hard.
He staggers back, a sharp smile on his face. “Do you know what, wife?
It’s been far too long since anyone has truly challenged me. I think I was
starting to miss it.”
Magic rushes into me from the earth, and I charge at him, but this time,
he’s ready and moves for me with a shocking speed.
He grabs my wrist, twisting my arm sharply behind my back, then
shoves my chest against the tree. Every nerve in my body is alight. My face
presses against the rough bark, and I catch my breath.
Leaning close, he whispers, his breath warming the side of my face.
“You’ve been playing me all along, little liar. And here I thought you
needed to be saved…”
“Blocking you out of my head kept me weak,” I say. “But now I’m
free.”
I slam my head back into his face, causing him to lose his grip. I spin
around and kick him high in the chest, my foot colliding with what feels
like pure rock. Even worse, he manages to catch my foot on the way down.
With a dark smile, he twists my leg and flips me onto my stomach. I hit the
ground hard, grunting from the pain.
I gasp sharply for breath. Rolling over, I kick him hard in the thigh, and
he winces. Swift as lightning, he’s on top of me now, his hand around my
throat. Not squeezing. Just holding me in place. Dominating. Owning me.
Curiosity flickers in his eyes, a flare of copper in the darkness. “What
are you, exactly? How did a demi-Fey become this strong?”
Morgan’s power streams into me again from the earth. Dark-eyed
usurper…you need to know your place. You’re not here to be king. You’re
here to be consort.
“Do you really want to know who I am?” My words cut through
clenched teeth, echoes of ladies long gone
The Bassilix Hunt
Somewhere in the depths of the forest, the basilisk is already hunting us.
Or rather, hunting me.
On his own, Talan would have no problem escaping this creature, but I
keep getting winded, my lungs wheezing. I can fight and throw daggers and
control people’s minds. What I cannot do is run like a Fey. I stopped
sprinting after about ten minutes.
I’m behind Talan. I walk quickly through the dark woods, twigs
snapping under my feet, and try to keep up with the Dream Stalker.
Armed with a bow, Talan prowls with a tiger’s grace. He’s all silence
and shadows, a quiet breeze between the trunks. When he catches my eye,
he doesn’t give the slightest hint of concern about the primordial monster
hunting us.
The fuck have I gotten myself into?
The snow crunches beneath my boots, and the chill seeps through to my
toes. Every breath of frozen air sears my lungs, and my heartbeat pounds in
my ears.
Barren and gnarled tree branches arch toward each other, a twisted, icy
cathedral above our heads. Apart from the sounds of our footfalls, quiet
blankets the forest. The silence is more menacing than noise, and fear
crawls under my skin.
Am I a spy or a prisoner who’s completely lost control of my mission?
As an undercover agent, I should be a manipulator, a puppeteer, influencing
those around me to work for my agenda. Instead, I’m fleeing from a fucking
basilisk so I can marry a man I’ve kissed once, a man I’m also trying to kill.
Worst game of Kiss, Marry, Kill ever.
The cold air pierces my lungs and stings my cheeks.
Part of me wonders if Talan already knows the truth about me. Maybe
this is all a slow torture plan—a punishment to take me apart one piece at a
time until I’m left defenseless before him and confess everything.
My lungs burn, the airways tightening. Of course, I don’t have